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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540928">to serve him for a year</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroidersthetruth/pseuds/embroidersthetruth'>embroidersthetruth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Backstory, Confessions, Fantasizing, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Mutual Pining, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:07:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroidersthetruth/pseuds/embroidersthetruth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Fitzjames had gone into stewardship instead of being promoted on the Pyramus, and if he had been hired onto the Terror for Ross' Antarctic expedition, what would his relationship with Commander Crozier look like? Set in 1841, as the Erebus and Terror return to Van Diemen's Land from the Antarctic circle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fall Fitzier Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to serve him for a year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomieow/gifts">anomieow</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>heavy inspiration from "At Furthest South" by sadsparties. Go read that for much more historical accuracy and a much better written fic in general!<br/>also the title is from the sea shanty "the handsome cabin boy" which is unfortunately not quite as gay as it sounds but is fun and horny about life on the sea and having a secret love affair with the captain</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>March 1841, Antarctic Sea</p><p>Crozier had never had a steward that aggravated him so much as Fitzjames. In all his years in the navy, struggling against the limits of his nationality and his aversion to the games of politics, stewards had often been a boon. They eased the awkwardness of his uniform and the wardroom dinners so that he could at least be sure he looked the part of a proper Naval officer. Some like Bridgens, who used to attend him on Terror, could be true sources of sympathy and understanding; his soft agreements about the absurd squabbles and debates that dominated the Admiralty were a boon. But since Bridgens was promoted to Erebus to serve Ross, and Fitzjames was in turn promoted to chief steward on Terror, the young man had had this constant heir of righteous judgement, as if he were the walking embodiment of British grace and so found Francis wanting. And of course he looked the part too, all tall and proud; uniform perfect and his long hair never uncurled or fussed no matter how early he arrived at Crozier’s cabin. Yes, there was something in Fitzjames’ dark eyes and beakish nose, his deep lined cheeks, that while not unhandsome, reminded Francis of some imperious statue.<br/>
So from the first Crozier was never at ease around this new steward, always straining to keep his posture and composure while Fitzjames was dressing him as if he were once again a midshipman called up for inspection. Mr. Fitzjames showed no sign of noticing the Captain’s tension. He simply bustled about him straightening collars and epaulettes while giving forth an endless stream of ship’s gossip and sailor’s stories about his time on the Euphrates expedition or the HMS Madagascar. Francis himself seldom gave more than a grumbled assent or an extremely bored expression of surprise, concentrating on his reflection while wondering at the young man’s arrogance. To talk about his accomplishments at translation in when he was only a steward, let alone his story of rescuing a man from drowning in Mersey River.<br/>
It was perhaps because of this sense of being judged, measured up, that Francis found himself finding fault with Fitzjames, with his work. reprimanding him for small mistakes or perceived grousing. Even more, he would make no effort to hide his drinking from his steward as he might have, having him haul out his empties. It was a challenge, he supposed, a petty one to see if the man would gossip as much as he thought he would. He had the loyalty of his crew, he knew, and continued to function well as a captain and a navigator. So the night before he had stayed up with his readings and another glass of whiskey.<br/>
“Would you like me to put these away, sir? You left them on the table last night and I was unsure if you planned to return to them,” Fitzjames said as he began to shuffle the charts and journals. Francis had, actually, before he flopped into a bunk and fell into a fitful sleep. “Leave them, Mr. Fitzjames,” he snapped, before remembering himself. “Thank you.”<br/>
“Of course, sir,” and Fitzjames glided on, making up Francis’ bed and readying the basin for a shave. This used to be a time he dreaded with his various steward, the close proximity making conversation even more awkward. But the first time Fitzjames had done the task, Crozier found that it was the only time that his mouth was hushed. Now he was mixing the shaving foam, casting a silent look at Crozier that he knew meant he should sit and loosen his collar. Unfortunately, this time also brought a new trial. Not one he was unfamiliar with, although Ross had long since been just a firm friend. But this feeling of a pair of hands to care for him, cradling his chin as the blade scraped down his cheek, sent his mind to unwelcome places. For all his resentment, he did notice the way Fitzjames bit his cheek, when he concentrated, just he was doing now. Just as he noticed his delicate but strong fingers and their skill at whatever task he set them to. Just as he noticed the annoyed little huff of breath he let out at finding a missed patch. It wasn’t as if it was Francis’ fault, but he couldn’t help but feeling reprimanded, in a way that mingled with that hot coiling in his belly.<br/>
The power of Fitzjames’ disapproval was not so much vexing as it was heady, at this proximity. When he turned Francis’ face back and forth like this, eyes intent, it almost made Crozier want to work to please him. At this, he had to turn his gaze to the ceiling, wishing away images of the younger man, and a subordinate for that matter, looking down at Francis with approval, even adoration, as he bit his cheek and blushed and panted with pleasure. Now Francis himself blushed, and he could only pray the steward did not notice his color, let alone the heat that seemed to radiate from within him. Thank god, Fitzjames was about done with Francis now, going up to his sideburns and finally rinsing off the razor.<br/>
The ships were now on their voyage back to Van Diemen’s Land now, after a long winter. Francis had had a difficult enough time keeping order throughout the voyage, now the going was slow and even fresh water for the men was running low. He wasn’t even able to consult with Ross, as the ships were seldom close let alone anchored together. He felt unmoored with no one to rely on. McMurdo and Bird were good lieutenants, but they were hardly his men. He could order them well enough but he could no more confide in them then they in him. It was in this long stretch of sailing that Crozier found himself falling into his two poorest habits- drinking and pining. Often it was for Ross, as long as it had been since they decided they were better off friends, and even as Ross had found his Ann. Occasionally it was for that charming girl Sophia Cracroft with whom he had been able to talk during endless dinners at Hobart House. She at least seemed to enjoy his company, if her smiles and glinting eyes were any indication. Unfortunately, it was all too often he drifted to sleep thinking on his steward.</p><p> </p><p>	Fitzjames had never had an officer that vexed him as much as Commander Crozier. He knew he should feel grateful to be in the position of head steward, especially since he was given because of his rapport with Ross and the lieutenants on both ships more than any kind of seniority. It was only Crozier who didn’t seem to want or enjoy his company, or his help. So of course that was the man he was now serving on Terror. The captain was solemn to a fault, , although perhaps not joyless in the company of Captain Ross, and a good commander to the men. Unfortunately, he saw too much of Crozier alone to say he admired him as much as the rest of the men. Or for that matter, as much as he used to admire the Crozier he had heard and read about. He was prone to melancholy, even to anger when the ice was stubborn enough, and Fitzjames could not approve of his habit for whiskey. At least for a captain. It wasn’t that Fizjames was some sort of stoic, but the abusive way Crozier inflicted the drink upon himself was no sort of way to live.<br/>
Crozier’s mood was incomprehensible to Fitzjames. To be the captain of his own ship, with his best friend as his comrade, sounded like everything Fitzjames had dreamed of when he wanted to go to sea. Of course, being a steward and being a true sailor was not the same thing, as he was constantly reminded. He had been lucky to be hired onto the voyages he had, to meet Teddy and Dundy- not that he would ever be able to call them that in public. He had been lucky to collect the experiences he had, but especially serving on Terror with Commander Crozier he was aware that his position would never allow for glory. He would always be a footnote, whereas Crozier was allowed a lead paragraph and refused to say anything. He let Ross take all the praise and reward while he always treated society with such reserve. The only people he seemed to enjoy himself with, besides the other captain, were the sailors. He’d seen him joke with the ice master as they surveyed the waters, and give encouraging orders tinged with advice to the young ABs. He would often place a hand on their shoulders, reassuring and gentle. Before he had been transferred to Terror, he had wondered what the warmth of that regard might feel like. Just as he had admired Crozier’s accomplishments from afar, he had admired the kind of stoic beauty that could be found in the captain’s posture in uniform. The rough capability in his hands and his strangely charming mouth.<br/>
But Crozier was cold up close, with few words to offer beyond orders. Fitzjames had tried with him, offering him stories as he had done with so many other officers to earn their liking and approval and to prove himself as capable a sailor as if he were on deck rather than in the wardroom. He had hoped at one point that these stories might amuse Crozier as well, help him shake this brown study and perhaps allow Fitzjames a more easy relationship with the man. If only to make shaving him less awkward, the closeness of Crozier’s face to his own and the warmth of his chin under his hand almost painful with the distance he felt from the man. Even now, as he put away his razors and took the basin to dump it out, he tried to endear himself to the commander once more. “Have I ever told you, sir, about my time walking back from Scanderoon?” Crozier cleared his throat.<br/>
“I think I’ve heard the story, yes. Delivering mail with officers of the Euphrates, correct?”<br/>
“Yes, sir, but I don't believe you’ve heard what happened when we finally left Beirut. At the port, I boarded the HMS Pique, hearing that my former officer Lieutenant Le Vesconte was aboard. However, on the journey I had not only walked through the desert for weeks, like John the Baptist,” here Crozier scoffed, in amusement or disdain James couldn’t tell but neither were preferable, “but I had also been forced to pawn all of our clothes to secure our transport. I was tanned, skinny, and dressed in whatever leftover scraps our escorts had had available. My friend addressed me as Turkish.” He paused for a reaction that only came as a small smile from Crozier. “Naturally, I played along for several hours, allowing them to shout at me in slow English as if the volume translated it, and responding in Arabic insults that I’d never get away with no matter how well Le Vesconte and I got along.”<br/>
“You speak Arabic?” The shock in Crozier’s voice was insulting, but understandable.<br/>
“Of course, sir, otherwise I likely would not have been necessary for the mail trip. I was not and am not really proficient, I only learned while I was on the expedition.”<br/>
“Still,” said Crozier, “it’s very impressive. I’m almost surprised to find you here, with these skills.”<br/>
At this Fitzjames’ jaw clenched. He knew he might have been a lieutenant by now if he had not chosen stewardship, but he did enjoy his role in a way. He was proud of keeping decorum on a ship, and being in close relation to the captain. Usually.<br/>
“I’d be nowhere else but in the Discovery Service, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>In the evening, Crozier bid goodbye to the lieutenants after dinner, and continued to sip his whiskey at the table as Fitzjames and Jopson, the lower officers’ steward, cleared the plates. Fitzjames liked McMurdo and Bird on deck, as sailors, but to hear their conversation with Crozier over the past months it seemed they worked much better in Ross’ presence. Or at least communicated more. He hadn’t heard a word of the trouble Bird had been having with the marines lately, or McMurdo’s attempts at learning to read the dip circle. Perhaps they thought Crozier too preoccupied to attend to their personal problems. Certainly he couldn’t blame them as long as Crozier sat the evening through only speaking of the ice, as always, and the increasing danger of their dwindling fresh water. All the while looking as if he dreaded every meeting and dinner he had, and desperate for a drink. He might teach him something about bearing, Fitzjames thought for a moment, before losing himself a moment to the thought of Crozier asking for those lessons from Fitzjames in a low desperate rasp.<br/>
“Why did you go into service, Fitzjames?”<br/>
The steward paused with his back to Francis, his posture stiff as he held the glass he was drying in midair.<br/>
“I had always wanted to go to sea, sir. I’m sure you can understand that it was an irresistible conclusion.”<br/>
“And a steward, then? You did not want to invest yourself in a Naval career?”<br/>
At James’ poorly concealed glower, Francis had to duck his chin in a grin. “I meant, Fitzjames, that that was the more intelligent move. You are a civilian, hired purely on the merit of your service. You need not rely on promotion by the Admiralty to decide your next voyage, or your fate.”<br/>
“Certainly, sir, I am not obliged to go to the front in China, as many young officers are. However, I do rely on captains, if not the Admiralty. If I did not make myself palatable to men like Franklin or Barrow…”<br/>
“Or me.” Fitzjames looked at him over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.<br/>
“Or you, sir.”<br/>
Crozier set down his glass and looked over at Fitzjames, who was already on his way with the decanter. He set it down with a clunk and watched as Francis poured himself another generous glass.<br/>
“Perhaps you should curb that for now, sir. Only that you mentioned the precarious situation earlier.”<br/>
“Are you presuming to give me orders, Fitzjames?” Crozier sneered. But behind that, there was a glint to his eyes as he looked up as James. A challenge, like a boxer’s come-on-then nod, that James dearly wanted to answer. James bit his cheek, hoping it wasn’t noticeable. He advanced slightly, relishing the shift in perspective of Crozier at this height, at his hips, still looking up with that hungry look. Was that a intake of breath, sharper than normal, as Crozier was forced to straighten and tilt his head toward James? Was he reading this right? As often as he felt this tension with the commander, as much as he thought he had grown upon the man as much as he had grown upon him, his position was not one where he could proposition his captain. He could be much worse than flogged. But now his silence had gone on too long not to be noted.<br/>
“No, sir,” said James, backing away again and folding his arms behind his back. “Of course not.”<br/>
Crozier exhaled slowly, quietly, in a way not so significant to someone not staring intently at his mouth and throat. He looked back at his glass in a manner that could seem resolved or disappointed, depending on how you wanted to see it, and to James’ surprise, poured the whiskey back into the decanter and rose.<br/>
“Straighten that, would you, Fitzjames? And wake me early, I must call an officer’s meeting tomorrow.” He trudged into his cabin, slipping off his waistcoat and braces as he did so.</p><p> </p><p>	The next morning, Crozier woke before James came to fetch him. He refrained from ringing the bell, instead pouring himself a glass of the little remaining fresh water to clear his aching head. He knew he must call the meeting as soon as possible, that they needed to take action now while their position among the bergy bits continued. He only hoped that Bird and McMurdo would give it the priority it required. Simple survival was just as important on this last leg of the voyage, he knew, as when they were in the depths of that ice. So he did not wait for Ftizjames before rising and beginning to dress. To the steward’s credit, it was only a few minutes before he entered with a tray to find Crozier shaven and in a waistcoat and shirtsleeves.<br/>
“Good morning, captain. You should have rung.”<br/>
Crozier smiled at the sternness of Fitzjames’ tone, like an officer giving orders. Just like last night. He was fain to admit how much he enjoyed it, even to himself, especially after years of resenting that tone from unnecessarily strict superiors. But last night, when he had been deeper in his cups than he ought to have been, Fitzjames had told him to curb himself, to control himself. A part of him had been incensed, a part of him grew in affection for the man to stand up to his commander, and a part of him was horribly thrilled. It wanted to take orders from Fitzjames for once, for the steward to keep him in check. At that, Crozier couldn’t help imagining being restrained by the man, Fitzjames tying him down even and demanding he stop the drinking, stop the moping. “I expect more from you,” this imaginary Fitzjames growled as he ground down on Crozier’s cock, still in full uniform and still magnificent, “now be the commander I deserve.” Crozier shook himself out of his shameful fantasy as he realized Fitzjames was speaking as he prepared his tea and opened the wardrobe.<br/>
“I took the liberty of ensuring the lieutenants were available for an officer’s meeting, if you choose to call one, sir.” Crozier looked in surprise at Fitzjames, who in turn looked down, seemingly chastened. “I overheard your conversation with the ice master about fresh water yesterday evening, and supposed you wanted to proceed with the plan as soon as the men could be mustered.” Crozier nodded, and Fitzjames continued to prepare his uniform, retrieving the formal jacket and epaulettes. As much as he resented the increasing hold the steward had on him, he also hated to admit the increasing awareness Fitzjames seemed to have of him. He anticipated his moods and actions now, as opposed to the disinterested efficiency of before. He could only hope Fitzjames wasn’t aware of his constant thoughts.<br/>
Now he placed the jacket on Crozier’s shoulder’s and began to button it, so Francis kept his shoulders high and his eyes resolutely forward, not on the hands working their way up his torso. These thoughts had not been such a problem at furthest south, although Crozier had been understandably preoccupied with the discoveries and hardships each day seemed to bring. Not to mention with Ross. Even when Fitzjames had been with them for a year, helping him in and out of his slops and fetching him compresses for his frostbitten feet, Crozier had not felt this restlessness when he touched him. The feeling he had as James buttoned one cuff, then let out an annoyed huff at finding the other sleeve’s was loose. Without a word, Fitzjames found a needle and thread and began tightening the button. Crozier cleared his throat and locked eyes with his reflection, unsurprisingly finding it was judging him for his weakness. he also saw the back of Fitzjames, his proud shoulders and long hair, and realized that even years later he would be able to recognize this man from just this view. This thought came just as Fitzjames brought Crozier’s arm to his lips, like a gentlemen offering a lady a kiss on the hand, and neatly snipped off the thread between his teeth. At the flash of Fitzjames’ incisors and his dark eyes looking up at him, Francis thought that he must be truly doomed now.</p><p> </p><p>September 1841, Van Diemen’s Land<br/>
Fitzjames observed the crowd, especially the dance partners, as the night went on, occasionally directing a lower officers’ steward or a servant from Hobart House. By this time, most of the guests were more than tipsy and a few of the officers, even Lieutenant Bird, were in attendance to Miss Eleanor Franklin. Sir John was sober, as Fitzjames had learned was his practice, and was warily and none too subtly watching Crozier dance with Miss Cracroft. Crozier himself looked flushed. Whether it was from drink, dancing or just Sophia Cracroft’s presence, James wasn’t concerned. As long as Crozier didn’t collapse in the hall, he could make a fool of himself in front of any young lady he wanted. Fitzjames should just leave now, find work in the kitchen or the officers’ cabins until the night was over. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Crozier’s face, the glint in his eyes and the smile that showed a gap in his front teeth James had never seen before when Miss Cracroft said something to make him laugh. Perhaps this was more than the mere infatuation that James had thought it was. The only thing that Fitzjames had seen on the captain’s face that came close was the way he looked at Captain Ross. At this thought James liked away, at the candles and swirling dresses that filled the room. Usually he would be enjoying himself as much as possible in this setting, simply by being in the presence of … It was  bad enough that Crozier disdained him while he was attending him, while he was dressing him and hauling out his whiskey bottles, and now he distracted him from his other duties. Ones he might actually able to enjoy. He looked back now for the end of the dance, for Crozier bowed and kissed Sophia’s hand. Now he turned and walked away from the crowd, away from Miss Cracroft, who looked at him as he left with a furrowed brow and a sad smile. Toward Ross, who he paused with for a moment as Ross grabbed at his elbow, seemingly concerned. But Crozier looked as if he were reassuring him even as he mopped at his brow and moved along. To Fitzjames.<br/>
“Ah, Fitzjames, would you alert Dr. McCormick? Tell him to meet me in my cabin when he is done with the festivities.”<br/>
“Are you well, sir?” asked James, moving forward as he forgot himself.<br/>
“Fine for now, thank you,” Crozier replied, “just a but faint. No cause for alarm just yet.” He attempted a smile which came across as a wince, and Fitzjames completed the distance between them to allow Crozier to rest a hand on his shoulder. From here he could see…<br/>
“Let me take you to your cabin, sir, in any case.” Crozier looked at him with a mildly surprised grin, as if he hadn’t noticed Fitzjames’ concern before now.<br/>
“ No, but thank you, Mr. Fitzjames. I think I can do that much for myself.” And he walked quickly away as if afraid of staying too much longer in the room. No wonder, the heat and the noise must have been hell for him, James thought. He went to find Dr. McCormick, and hoped the episode would not detain Commander Crozier from the officer’s meeting the next morning. </p><p> </p><p>	It had been five days, and Crozier’s fever showed no signs of breaking. Each day was half blurry dreams and half a haze of aches and pains. The only times he rose from his bed was to visit the seat of ease, and was reminded well of his neglect of his duties by the constant presence of Fitzjames. The man must have slept sometime, but between his duties to the rest of the ship and his seat by Crozier’s bedside, Francis couldn’t imagine when. And as difficult as it was for Francis not to feel guilty as he was, helpless and useless, Fitzjames’ face as he rinsed out flannels for Francis’ brow, as he brought him cool water again and again, held no reproach. Of course, he kept up his stream of conversation, but the stories he chose to share were different now. Still full of literary exaggeration, they seemed drawn less from Fitzjames’ impressive memoirs than a farce.<br/>
“So were were walking our way up the Euphrates, sweating out every ounce of water we drank and most of our civility while we were at it, when there was a great crash and I and the rest of the men hauling the barge began to shout in panic. Thinking we were under some kind of attack, Lieutenant Charlewood and the other officers quickly armed themselves and turned toward the noise, only to see the barge had been completely upended.” Crozier let out a short outburst of breath, too tired to fully laugh, and Fitzjames gave him a small smile in response before continuing. “Everything we had of any importance was in that barge. Not only 15 tons of coal, but all our belongings, our clothes- as the man most concerned with our uniforms and meal trappings, of course, I was devastated.” This at last made Francis laugh out loud, at the lad’s expense he supposed, but the joy on Fitzjames’ face took away any guilt he might of felt. He looked lovely like this, Francis thought helplessly. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and hair loose, the steward seemed softer than he had ever seen him. As much as he had admired and desired the man, he had not thought of him as a lover in the more innocent sense. What was he like, Francis wondered, with those he loved?</p><p> </p><p>	The next day, Fitzjames woke in his cot and went to visit Francis only to find him in the hold of another fever dream. He tossed, tangled and sweaty in his bedsheets, as Fitzjames rushed to sooth him with another flannel. He brushed Crozier’s hair back from his forhead, soft as goose down, and wondered that the action should be so familiar to him now. That it didn’t feel like an impertinence. Francis moaned slightly at James’ touch, seeded a wave of heat to James’ face even though he knew it was only because he was waking. His hands moved from where they clutched his blanket, grasping at air until James answered them with one of his own. Crozier gripped his hand between his, eyes not focused but looking up toward Ftizjames’ face.<br/>
“James…”<br/>
“Sir?” James gripped Francis’ hand back, the other still on his brow.<br/>
“Sweet James, lovely…”<br/>
The flush James was previously aware of erupted now, as if Crozier’s fever was contagious. James began to smooth the hair back from Francis’ brow, and Francis’ thumb stroked the back of his hand. He must be dreaming, James thought, it must be a dream of some other sweet James… ah. His hand stilled in its ministrations before continuing.<br/>
“Yes, Francis, I’m here.”<br/>
It would be cruel to deny Crozier the idea of Ross, as long as the captain could not be here. At least he might be a slight substitute. As his hand kept the same rhythm as Francis’ thumb across the back of his knuckles, James couldn’t ignore the ache he felt at the thought.<br/>
What did he want from this man, anyway? Did he want to be Ross? The darling of the admiralty, at the helm with Crozier at his side? Did he want to keep Crozier like this, vulnerable and moaning in his arms? Or did he want Crozier as he had been these last months, angry and drunk, seething but unable to do anything about it? Writhing under his hand, perhaps, with his other gripped around Francis’ wrists. No, none of it satisfied him, except perhaps all of it. But even then he would miss something he’d never had, but seen, that light in Francis’ eyes and the warmth of his regard. God help him, he wanted Francis to see him.<br/>
James had stilled with his hand still in Francis’ hair, and now pulled it away in shame. Francis stirred at the lack of contact, and for one horrifying moment Fitzjames thought maybe he would wake to find James holding his hand. But he only groaned and turned over, releasing James’ hand and allowing him to cover him with the sheet again. </p><p> </p><p>	Crozier patted Mr. Reid on the shoulder as they finished their conversation, and went to observe the busy comings and goings in port as Erebus and Terror prepared to set sail for Sydney. For the first time since he had recovered, he thought perhaps he should visit Hobart House. Ross had brought reports of the goings on since the gala whenever he visited Francis in bed, but he wondered what the mood was, what the Franklins thought of the upcoming … what Sophia thought. She still occupied his thoughts at times, as one of the wisest and wittiest women he had met. Perhaps they found him wanting or weak. To be sure, his illness had come at an opportune time, while in port, but they might simply see this as<br/>
How many of his officers would sail with him again, after this voyage of a lifetime? Now was the time to make plans for their next journey, to play politics and court promotion. And not just officers, he realized. Fitzjames relied on his connections with captains and commanders more than anyone in order to sail where he wanted. And would he really want to stay with Terror, with Francis? To be sure, the voyage back to the circle would be hazardous, but it wouldn’t be like Fitzjames to hesitate at danger when glory was at hand. God know he may only stay for the story. He could hear him now, telling Franklin about skirting the ice shelf, the New Year’s party on deck. He could secure a permanent position on Hobart Island, or in Sydney he may find himself a voyage to fight in China.<br/>
Not that it mattered if Fitzjames left him- left the expedition. If anything, he would be less distracted in his private hours. But he had shown himself to be a good man, king, as Crozier ha learned firsthand. He would…miss him. Miss the huffy, particular brand of care that he provided for him. Miss looking at him go about his work. Even miss hearing his stories. It was humiliating to admit that even to himself, so he could never ask James to stay with him when he didn’t know what the steward wanted. So when he went below that day, after dinner, Crozier stopped Fitzjames from slipping away for the kitchen. He had something to say to him.<br/>
“Fitzjames, I don’t think I ever thanked you enough for getting me through my illness.”<br/>
“Just doing my duty, sir. I wouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself.” Fitzjames smiled and Crozier couldn’t help but smile back, no matter how much it hurt.<br/>
“Yes, I know. After everything you’ve done, not just this, you have proven to be a steward of exception. So what’s more, I want you to know that I will say as much to any captain you desire to join.” The effect was instantaneous and dreadful. Fitzjames’ smile broke and resolved itself into that stony expression Francis had hardly seen since they had returned to Van Diemen’s Land.<br/>
“You wish me to apply for another position, sir?”<br/>
“I do not, Fitzjames, but if you wish to join another voyage after our return to the circle, I would be happy to help you to that position.”<br/>
“Would you?” said Fitzjames, more sharply than Crozier had ever heard him. “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems it would be preferable to you if I were to transfer ships. Has there been some fault with my work that you do not choose to mention?”<br/>
“Watch who you’re speaking to, Fitzjames. If I wanted you out of my service, you would be gone.” Fitzjames had straightened his posture as Crozier walked toward him, keeping his gaze above Crozier’s eyes. “Do you think I play at subtleties like some hinting housewife? I only think of your ambitions.”<br/>
“And that is what you think of me? If I wished to be out of your service, I would not hesitate to tell you. I would not abandon this expedition.” Fitzjames met his gaze now, with a heat in his cheeks and eyes that made Francis balk. It made him aware of how close they were, their hard breathing.<br/>
“And after? I am aware I have not been the easiest charge, Fitzjames. I cannot give you many reasons to stay when this expedition is over.”<br/>
Francis had barely registered Fitzjames’ broken expression before his lips were on his own. And by the time his mind had caught up to the fact, he was already kissing the steward back, licking his mouth open and tasting his tongue. Then Fitzjames was already pulling away, leaving Crozier gasping as much at what had just happened as at the sight of James’ lips wet and swollen. “Sir,” said James, full of apprehension and a prepared kind of deference, “I’m sorry, I can’t explain-“<br/>
“James, no,” Crozier said, gripping his arm and the back of his neck, “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. All the blame falls on my shoulders.” James was looking at him equal parts pain and confusion, an expression Francis wanted to banish. “I didn’t think I had been so obvious, and god forbid I have made you feel oppressed. But please no I don’t mean to force you into anything, I don’t want to keep you with me for this purpose. Understand, James, I meant what I said.”<br/>
At the second use of his given name, James let out a sigh, or perhaps a sob, Crozier couldn’t tell. “Sir, let me make myself clear in turn. I will stay with you because I desire it, and I kissed you because I desire you. Now,” he squared himself to look Francis in the eye, “would you permit it again?” Francis nodded frantically, more times than was really necessary, before James pushed him back against his desk, placing his hands on either side of him and framing Francis’ thighs with his own. All the while he continued to kiss Crozier deeply, sweet enough that Francis couldn’t help but feel the embrace was gentle despite Fitzjames’ roughness.<br/>
“Mr. Fitzjames,” Francis mumbled as he redirected his mouth to James’ throat, “where did an upstanding young steward like you learn to kiss a man like that?”<br/>
James’ laugh was breathless. “You wouldn’t like to know, sir.” He tossed his long hair away from the column of his throat to allow Crozier more access, only to whine as he pulled away to look him in the eye.<br/>
“I would,” Francis said earnestly. “I’d like to know everything about you, Fitzjames.”<br/>
James’ eyes were even darker than normal as he looked at Crozier appraisingly, sussing out the truth of the statement before kissing him again, gripping the back of his jacket so hard it would wrinkle. More work for him, Crozier thought with some guilt.<br/>
“Call me James, then,” he said lowly, “Captain Crozier.” Francis half-laughed, half-gasped at the address. He’d never heard so much reverence for rank in Fitzjames’ voice. “Then you must call me Francis.”<br/>
“Francis.” This name affected him even more than Fitzjames’ previous address, and stirred some foggy memory of lamplight and a warm hand in his. That same hand now stroked Francis’ cheek before moving to his chin, tilting his gaze to meet Fitzjames’. That look was back, judging Crozier, but he did not feel ashamed. Whatever Fitzjames was looking for in his eyes, he seemed to find it.<br/>
“And you? Would you stay with me, in turn? Wherever we might go?”<br/>
That “we,” and the slight hesitance in James’ voice as he said it, broke Francis. He nodded again, slower this time, and kissed him once again, savoring it as if he might never again have this man, but knowing he might never have to be without him.<br/>
"There's no one I'd rather be with, James."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And then we're not going to talk about what happens when Fitzjames follows Crozier to the Arctic. Probably- I don't know how I'd handle angst or a fix-it.<br/>Also a very brief mention of Jopson bc I do think in this timeline he's still Crozier's adopted son eventually<br/>Will add an alternate ending with smut as soon as it's finished, this version is unfortunately very soppy. Oops all feelings!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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